The Second Choice
by AJ Kline
Summary: COMPLETELY REMASTERED ON 3/24/14. A series of oneshots about Amelie, Jean, Hieronymus, and others. They didn't fit into my main Oblivion fic "Of Noblest Heart," so I decided to put them up while I continue to work on the Skyrim fic. Spoils main quest and Shivering Isles. T for some language and light adult themes. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

(A note from the author: This little collection of oneshots was remastered in March 2014 in connection with its parent fic, Of Noblest Heart. Please enjoy them! -AJ)

**Thieves and Skooma**

"Have you hit something, Amelie?"

Amelie Rose flipped pages, jotting down notes. "I _believe_ so... but it may be wise to call it a night. I can scarcely keep my thoughts in order."

Her study companion, the Argonian Master-Wizard Tar-Meena, laughed. "After such a day as you've had, I'm amazed you're still functioning. The Gray Fox assault this morning, nearly expelled this afternoon... What follows you tonight, my friend?"

Amelie shook her head, smiling. "Nothing malicious, I hope. Gods willing, I can unwind a bit tonight before lecture tomorrow morning. Iver should be back from the Waterfront, he'll want to borrow my notes from yesterday."

"Why don't you come walk with me in the alchemy garden?" Tar-Meena suggested. "It feels like a long time since we've talked anything but business."

"You're right. That sounds wonderful."

The two women, alone in the Mystic Archives, packed away the various tomes and scraps of paper the day's work had spread out across the table. Tar-Meena was an expert in Daedric cults, and Amelie had come to the University to ask for her help. The Blades were doing something, and they needed to research, and _of course_ Tar-Meena would help. Traven could only keep her so busy with other things.

"How are your studies coming?" Tar-Meena asked kindly. "You seem to be doing quite well for a new student."

"It's all falling into place, now that I have formal instruction here," Amelie said. "The University environment is _much_ more conducive to learning than any other place I have studied."

"I don't doubt it. The outer guild halls are nice and all, but I've always felt that the best place to learn the magical arts is here."

They left the Arcane University, closing the iron gates behind them. A man sitting on the low stone wall of the bridge leading to the Imperial City proper looked up at the clanking of the lock.

"What's tomorrow's lecture?" Amelie asked.

"If I'm not mistaken, it's about runestones again."

Amelie sighed. "It's not as though I am ungrateful for the education, just that I wish we could learn something more practical for a change."

"Miss Amelie Rose?"

The women looked around. Watch Captain Hieronymus Lex got up from the stone wall, looking anxious.

"Captain Lex?"

Amelie looked him over curiously. Just this afternoon, she had seen him in his full Imperial Legion armor, sword at the ready and culprit in hand. Now, however, he sported a much more comfortable, much less metallic outfit.

"My goodness, I barely recognized you without your armor," Amelie remarked.

"It's something of a trademark for the Imperial Legion," Hieronymus said. "But I'm relieved all the same to be out of it every now and again."

"Is there something I can assist you with, Captain?" Amelie asked apprehensively.

"Sort of. I wanted to... well, I wanted to apologize," Hieronymus said sheepishly. "For everything that's happened today."

"There's no lasting harm done," Amelie pointed out. "You need not apologize."

"Still, I feel awful about what my actions have put you through," he said. "I want to make it up to you. Let me take you to dinner."

Amelie, floored, looked to Tar-Meena for help. "Er, my... Tar-Meena and I—"

Tar-Meena nodded, smiling. "We can catch up another time, friend," she said. Leaning in for a moment, she added in a hurried whisper to Amelie, "I've heard he's uptight. I'll be in the dorms if you want to get away."

Tar-Meena nodded politely to Hieronymus as she left. "Don't keep her out too late, Captain," she added. Amelie stifled a laugh.

Hieronymus watched Tar-Meena head back into the University, then returned his attention to Amelie. "So, ah... dinner?"

Amelie smiled. "That would be lovely."

They started off towards the tunnel together, an awkward silence between them. Amelie cast a curious glance at the silver claymore still at her companion's waist.

"Expecting trouble?" she asked warily.

"Hm? Oh. No, I never _expect_ trouble," Hieronymus said. "But as an officer of the law, I find it best to be prepared wherever I go."

"Do you have a particular destination in mind?"

"I'm not sure. What would you recommend?" Hieronymus stopped at the opening of the tunnel, looking around the district. It was rapidly emptying as the night wore on.

"To be honest, the only establishment I can truly say I frequent is the Bloated Float. I have heard good things about the King and Queen Inn, however," Amelie said.

"Hm. I've never been to the King and Queen, but the Bloated Float has excellent dinner service. Shall we?"

They headed towards the inn, the sunset shining on them. The waterfront looked much more peaceful than it had the previous day, the lack of Imperial guards especially apparent.

"So... are you from the Imperial City?" Hieronymus asked conversationally.

Amelie shook her head. "My family and I hail from Anvil."

"Anvil? That's quite a ways to come just to study magic."

"I am actually here on business," Amelie said delicately. "The studying is just a happy side effect. As long as I am here, I might as well make use of all the resources at my disposal."

"Makes sense."

"Are you a City native?"

"Might as well be. My parents are from Cheydinhal, but we came here when I was a boy. I barely remember it, but I hear Cheydinhal is beautiful."

"It truly is. If ever you get the chance, go for the architecture," Amelie suggested. "The buildings are truly something to see."

"I'll bear that in mind. Ah, allow me."

Hieronymus moved ahead to open the door. Amelie smiled, inclining her head as she entered the inn.

"Evening, Captain. Miss Azarath." The orc at the door nodded them in. The Altmer publican waved at the pair of them as they entered. The inn was moderately busy, a few patrons scattered about the tables.

"Ah, welcome back! Any more potions to sell, miss?"

"None today, Ormil. My apologies, you shall have to wait until tomorrow," Amelie said.

"Don't worry. Can I perhaps get you something else?"

"How about dinner? For two," Hieronymus put in.

"Ah. _Ah!_ Of course!" Ormil gestured at a table, skittering about the little kitchenette.

"May I ask what your business here in the City is?" Hieronymus asked courteously as they sat down.

"Er, well. It is a rather singular assignment, and with any luck I shall be out of your hair by the end of the week," Amelie said.

"You're not very forthcoming, are you?" Hieronymus regarded her with interest. "Are you... in some sort of trouble, Amelie? Perhaps I've misjudged you."

"Oh no, not at all. Make no mistake, I never get into trouble with the law," Amelie said, double taking at a figure at the other end of the inn. A Bosmer woman was attracting her attention while trying to stay inconspicuous. Methredhel?

"That's good. You seem like a good citizen, the Imperial City is glad to have you," Hieronymus said, noticing Amelie's distraction. "Is something wrong?"

"N-No, just a little nervous, I think," Amelie said quickly. "I've never had dinner with a member of the Imperial Legion before; it is rather intimidating, you understand."

Hieronymus laughed. "As long as nothing illegal happens, you have no reason to worry."

Methredhel sneaked around the inn, alerting a few of the patrons to Hieronymus's presence. Two or three immediately began to sneak towards the door, interrupted by Ormil's reappearance with two warm bowls of vegetable stew.

"There you are Captain, miss Azarath."

"Thank you, Ormil," Amelie said politely. "This smells delicious."

"Can I get you anything else? Bread, wine perhaps?"

"This is quite enough for now, thanks," Hieronymus said. Ormil nodded good-naturedly, still unknowingly barring the successful escape of several thieves.

"Let me know if there's any—"

The serving tray went flying out of Ormil's hand, pinned to the wall with an arrow. Wide-eyed, the patrons whipped around, searching the inn for the assailant. Hieronymus rose from his chair, a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Thief or assassin, you are not welcome here!"

In the confusion, the Thieves Guild slipped out. Hieronymus and Ormil kept looking for the attacker. With her main adversary suitably distracted, Methredhel stayed behind, slipping into the chair behind Amelie. Amelie discreetly dug in her satchel for her Mages Guild hood, and passed it to Methredhel.

"Was that entirely necessary?" Amelie whispered, still facing her table.

"Black eye healed fast," Methredhel whispered back, pretending to be engaged in an old issue of the Black Horse Courier. "No one got hurt."

"You nearly _shot_ the man."

"Why are you on a date with Lex in the waterfront? He could arrest us all!" Methredhel hissed, pulling the hood low over her brow.

"Don't you _dare_ tell Jean. It is not a date, it is dinner. If you so fear the eyes of the law, why are you still here in plain sight of them?" Amelie whispered back. Methredhel pulled the hood tighter over her head.

"If he's paying, it's a date. Keep him busy so I can get out of here."

"He wanted to apologize for what YOU did to me. Why did you stay behind? You had a perfect distraction earlier, you missed your chance."

"What _I_ did? It's his own damn fault for making trouble. Just get him to leave the room or something, he can't keep his eyes off you while he's here."

"If I recall correctly, YOU are the one that owes ME for the black eye," Amelie pointed out softly, Hieronymus returning.

Methredhel swore under her breath. "Please, Rose. After today, I _can't_ get caught again."

"Everything all right?" Amelie asked, her question directed at Hieronymus.

"Nothing stolen, from what we can tell," Hieronymus sighed. "No sign of an attacker, either. I'm sorry for the interruption, Amelie."

"No need to apologize," Amelie said kindly. "I don't think either of us expected to find trouble here."

Hieronymus smiled. "You're right."

They settled back into their meal, the inn noticeably quieter with the departure of the Thieves Guild. Methredhel nudged Amelie's chair forward a few inches; she could not escape with Hieronymus looking in her direction.

"You never did tell me what you're doing here in the City," Hieronymus prompted again, peering curiously for a moment at the hooded figure behind Amelie.

"Are you really that curious?" Amelie asked, laughing.

"Well, yes. A woman from Anvil doesn't come all the way here for no reason."

"If you must know. I am working on a mission for the Blades."

Hieronymus looked incredulously at her. "The Imperial Blades? The Emperor's bodyguards?"

"Now, you must hear me out. I was not a part of the Blades until after Emperor Uriel's death," Amelie explained.

"Bringing in new blood, I suppose. I just... can't picture you as a soldier."

Amelie laughed. "It is true, I am of no use to anyone with an actual blade. But I had the great fortune of getting myself caught up in the whole ordeal of the Emperor's death and working out his succession."

"I certainly don't envy your job. I won't ask any more, forgive me for prying."

"It is quite all right-!"

Methredhel jolted Amelie's chair again, lurching her forward a bit further.

Hieronymus frowned, looking behind Amelie again. "Excuse me, miss!"

Methredhel kicked Amelie's chair again, prompting Amelie to get up.

"Help. Me. _Out,"_ Methredhel breathed in Amelie's ear as Amelie dragged Methredhel to her feet. "H-Hey!"

"If you pickpocket him on the way out, I will give him a complete detailing of what really happened last night," Amelie hissed warningly. Raising her voice, she added, "Darling, what are you still doing here? You should be sleeping that off. I should have known it was you right away."

"Rose, so help me, _if you drag me around—"_

"Come on, dear." Amelie pinned Methredhel tightly against her and frogmarched her towards the door. "Graman, can you help her back to the University?"

"Err, certainly." The orc took Methredhel from Amelie, and "helped" her out the door. Hieronymus stood by their table, looking confused.

"What... who was that?"

Amelie sat back down, a good-natured smile on her face. "A fellow student at the University. The poor dear is addicted to Skooma."

Hieronymus's eyes went wide. "Skooma? At the University?"

"Moon sugar can be a valuable alchemical ingredient," Amelie lied. "A few of the less-responsible students have gotten into the nasty habit of using it for other purposes."

"That... Amelie, Skooma isn't _illegal_ in Cyrodiil, but where... how...?"

Amelie tried not to laugh. "That is for me to worry about, not you."

"For you to...? Amelie, I thought you said you weren't in any trouble!" Hieronymus said incredulously.

"And I was telling the truth," Amelie said simply, returning to her stew. "I have kept everyone safe so far, and no one has turned me in."

"You..."

Amelie chanced a quick glance towards the door. Graman had returned; Methredhel was gone.

"Amelie, are you a moon sugar trader?" Hieronymus asked carefully.

Amelie took a delicate sip of broth, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Wha—Amelie!" Hieronymus leapt up from his chair, shocked. "I-I didn't know you were a woman of such questionable morals! You—"

Amelie laughed. "Oh, _do_ stop being ridiculous and sit down, Captain."

"But—!"

"You MUST learn to take a joke," Amelie said, smiling good-naturedly at him. "You cannot _seriously_ believe that that woman was on Skooma. Stumbling around like that? She was drunk!"

"Drunk?" Hieronymus sat back down, confused. "Are you... you were joking. About Skooma."

"So perhaps I don't have the _best_ sense of humour," Amelie said.

"Skooma _is not_ funny," Hieronymus insisted.

"If you say so." Amelie set down her spoon, shaking her head. "I do find it interesting that you have trouble distinguishing the telltale signs of drunkenness from that of Skooma addiction."

"We've done a fair job of driving REAL Skooma dealers out of the Imperial City," Hieronymus said indignantly. "You can't fault me for not recognizing something I rarely see."

"True enough."

Silence. Amelie fished out her coin purse to pay for her meal. "Have I scared you off then, Captain?"

"Hardly." Hieronymus got there first, settling the tab with Ormil before Amelie could open her purse. "Any woman with the audacity to 'joke' with a Captain of the Guard is someone I'd certainly enjoy seeing more of."

Amelie cocked an eyebrow. "You have no fun in the Imperial Guard barracks, do you?"

"Well, I wouldn't say _that."_

They laughed, departing the Bloated Float.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hieronymus and Jean**

"So you're well, then?" Jean Christophe crossed his arms, speaking to the Count of Anvil in the entry hall.

"We're both doing fine," Corvus said warmly. "The cowl suits you, my friend."

"Good. Are you worried about Lex ever finding out? About either of us?"

Corvus laughed. "Hardly. We keep him on a pretty tight leash around here. I don't think he likes it much, but it'll keep you both out of trouble."

"Thanks."

"Best of luck in Bruma. We'll be waiting for you and your siblings to safely return."

Jean left, heading back home. The sunset was always beautiful over the harbor, something all three of the siblings were missing in the frigid heights of Bruma. Jean was in Anvil for damage control following Hieronymus Lex's "heroic" ploy in the Waterfront. After forcibly relocating him out of the Imperial City, the pressure on the guild was considerably lightened. However, Anvil was the place the Azaraths called home.

And wherever the Azaraths were, the Gray Fox went.

The doorstep of the Azarath's manor was occupied. An armored man was knocking on the door.

"Heavily armed stranger at the door. That WOULD be the end to this day... Can I help you?" Jean asked, approaching the stranger.

"Er. Hello."

Hieronymus Lex stood awkwardly at the door, in Anvil guard armor. "Wait... I know you—"

"No you don't," Jean said dismissively. "What are you doing at my door?"

"I'm Hieronymus Lex, new captain of the Anvil guard. I'm looking for Amelie Rose Azarath," Hieronymus said warily. "I was told that SHE lived here."

"I'm her elder brother, she's not in town," Jean said.

"Ah, I see. Just making the rounds."

"Any reason you're looking for my sister?" Jean asked. "Has she done something wrong?"

"Not at all. We met a while ago in the Imperial City, and I was... I wanted to say hello," Hieronymus said. "But, if she's not in."

"How'd you know we live here?" Jean frowned. Hieronymus didn't look hostile, just confused and a bit disappointed.

"Amelie told me that she and her siblings lived in Anvil. I asked Carahil at the Mages Guild where I could find her, and she directed me here."

Jean sighed. "Well, she's not in."

"I can see that." Hieronymus looked suspiciously at Jean. "I'm sure I'll see her again some other time."

"Well, if there's nothing else." Jean made to move past Hieronymus into the house. "I've got some work to attend to, and I'm sure you do too, so—"

"If you could perhaps make sure she gets this?" Hieronymus held out a sealed letter, looking hopeful.

Jean stared at at him, taking the letter. "What's this? Business proposal?"

"Not at all, I—"

Without bothering to look at it, Jean stabbed the letter neatly through the center with an arrow and shot it into the small pond across the way.

_"Hey—!"_

"We're not looking for suitors, especially not from the military," Jean said forbiddingly, bow lowered but ready.

"I could arrest you for having a weapon out in the middle of town!" Hieronymus snapped, a hand on his sword.

"And I could have shot that arrow into your skull instead of at the selkie statue," Jean said, unconcerned.

"Are you threatening an officer of the law?"

"Sorry. Thought we were talking about things that weren't going to happen today."

"I—what's your name?" Hieronymus demanded, drawing his sword.

"I'm Amelie Rose's brother and that's all you need to know," Jean said, pushing past Hieronymus to get into the house.

"That's no answer to the question!"

"When did I promise you an answer to the question? Get off my property," Jean growled, slamming the door.

Jean could hear Hieronymus fuming on the other side of the door, ultimately taking his leave. Probably to fish the letter out of the pond... That would keep him busy for a while. Long enough for Jean to be gone.

Locking the door behind him, Jean surveyed the two keys, coin pouch, and scabbard he had lifted from Hieronymus's belt. The scabbard was nice enough, a worn but polished silver edged with moonstone; it might have made a fine gift to Anna Marie had she still been alive. Both keys to Castle Anvil, one to interior and one to the exterior gate. Shame. If Corvus hadn't been the count, these might have been useful. He dropped the keys into a ceramic pot atop a shelf, shoved the scabbard into a chest under his bed, and hopped out the window onto the balcony.

He could see Hieronymus, sword still out, staring aimlessly at the pond. Whatever had been hidden in that letter was as good as gone by now. It wouldn't be long before Hieronymus noticed the missing scabbard, and Jean didn't plan to hang around for that.

Jean hoisted himself up onto the roof of the house, creeping towards the Anvil wall. With a grand leap, he latched onto a tree in the back gardens, climbing up until he could get on top of the wall.

Right on cue, Jean heard banging on the door to the manor. Grinning victoriously, Jean sprinted north, yanking the Cowl of Nocturnal over his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hieronymus, Amelie, and Farwil**

Hieronymus sat outside the Bruma encampment, stoking the sputtering fire. The cold was harsh on the soldiers from the warmer southern parts of Cyrodiil. If only the fire could live and burn to warm them all...

Footsteps, from the north. A faint murmur of talk followed a pair of visitors.

"Good afternoon!"

Amelie Rose and Farwil Indarys were approaching the camp. Farwil was, as usual, chattering endlessly. Amelie was silent, but not listening.

"Ah. Welcome back!"

Amelie smiled. "How are you holding up, Hieronymus?"

"Well enough. I've gotten spoiled by the Colovian weather, though... not enjoying the cold. I can hardly imagine how you get by way up at the temple."

"We manage, somehow," Farwil said as Amelie set down a basket.

The three of them sat down and talked, the little fire struggling valiantly against the wind and snow. Amelie shook her head, casually throwing her hand towards the fire. It sprang to life with the aid of her magical fire, burning cheerily in the crisp afternoon.

"I do so wish you'd teach me magic," Farwil said.

"Whatever for?" Amelie sighed.

"So that I could blast those daedra back into Oblivion."

Hieronymus shook his head. "Don't trust this one with magic. I barely trust him with a sword."

"_Thankfully_, you're not in charge of me," Farwil pointed out. "How about it, Amelie?"

"Not a chance."

"What if I teach you something in return?" Farwil asked slyly. Hieronymus whacked him upside the head. "Ow!"

Amelie giggled. "You be good to each other, now."

"You HIT me!"

"You're a warrior, wear a helmet," Hieronymus said, taking a swig from his water flask.

"YOU may be a warrior, but I am a soldier of the Empire," Farwil said indignantly.

"Then wear an Imperial helmet."

Amelie shook her head with a smile, getting up from the snowy ground. "I shall leave you to it. I need to run by Olav's before it gets too late."

"Let me come with you," Hieronymus said, getting up as well.

"We will be fine, Captain," Farwil said, picking up Amelie's basket. "I can protect—"

Amelie threw a snowball at Farwil, cutting him off. "Thank you, but I can manage."

Farwil swept the snow off his back. "Why are you always in a better mood when we're down here? You're hardly the same person when you're around Martin."

"There is a certain level of _decorum_ to be maintained with Emperor Martin," Amelie said pointedly. "While he is a good man and a loyal friend, he is hardly the sort of man I would start a snowball fight with."

"And we are?" Hieronymus asked.

"Well, certainly. I—"

Farwil lobbed a snowball at Amelie, hitting her shoulder.

"You started it," Farwil pointed out lightly, scooping up more snow. "And since you'll probably get upset if—"

Hieronymus got Farwil on the side of the head with a snowball of his own. "Don't get any ideas, now," Hieronymus said, ducking as Farwil threw at him. "Your aim is awful!"

"So put on a helmet!"

Amelie hit Hieronymus square in the chest, picking up her basket from where Farwil had dropped it. "If you two will excuse—aah!" Farwil threw another at her, which she blocked with the basket.

"Hey! No cheating!" Farwil shouted, another snowball at the ready.

"You can't cheat in snowball fights," Hieronymus insisted, shaking the snow out of his hair. Farwil promptly threw his snowball at Hieronymus's head. "W-Watch it!"

Farwil nearly fell over laughing. "You two are so uptight! If you loosened up—"

Amelie shut him up with a well-aimed snowball to the cheek, tipping him over. "We loosen up from time to time."

Farwil scrambled to his feet, snow flying from his boots. "You—I'll get you for that one!"

"Oh, no you don't, soldier!"

The fight continued for a good while, the three of them laughing in between the throws and hits. Amelie frequently relied on her basket-shield to keep the snow away from her face. Farwil's attempts to make a show of throwing snowballs left him open to attacks from Hieronymus, thrown straight as an arrow into Farwil's face.

The snowballs followed them all the way to the gates of Bruma, where the guards asked them to stop rather than getting involved.

"Please. Looks fun, but now's hardly the time," the guard posted outside the city said.

"Of course."

Amelie brushed the snow out of her hair and off her clothes, the two warriors shaking out their armor. Amelie emptied the lingering snow out of her basket, then turned to face them.

"I will see you back at Cloud Ruler Temple, then, Farwil," she said, her cordial tone returning.

"Are you sure I can't accompany you into the city?" Farwil asked. "There are so few pleasures in life as wonderful as your company."

"Thank you, but no," Amelie said firmly. "I can handle a simple shopping trip on my own."

Farwil nodded, and started the return to the temple. Hieronymus sighed, offering Amelie his arm.

"May I?"

Amelie laughed, taking it. They walked into the city, heading towards Olav's Tap and Tack.

"It must get lonely in the encampment," Amelie remarked.

"Not really. There are people from all over the country, it's interesting to hear everyone compare stories," Hieronymus said.

"That... sounds good."

Hieronymus laughed. "In these times, you take comfort where you can."

"I am glad you can find comfort somewhere."

"What about you and Farwil? And Martin?" Hieronymus asked. "Cloud Ruler Temple is pretty far from a social hub."

"Thankfully," Amelie said, taking a deep breath. "Otherwise Martin and I would never get anything done."

"What's Martin like?" Hieronymus asked. "I only briefly met him when my troops and I came from Anvil."

"He is a wonderful man," Amelie said. "He will make a good Emperor. I would want no one else at the helm right now."

"Right now, though, it's Chancellor Ocato."

Amelie groaned. "Please. Do not remind me. I barely see him at the Council of Mages and even that is taxing enough."

Hieronymus laughed. "Can't say I have fond memories of him either."

"Welcome, come in." Olav let them in, looking tired as usual. "What can I get you?"

"Food for the forces at Cloud Ruler Temple," Amelie said, setting down the basket.

"Anything special?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

"Right."

"So what do you and Martin do all day?" Hieronymus asked curiously, leaning against the counter as Olav busied himself gathering breads and cheeses for Amelie.

"Martin is working on deciphering Mythic Dawn holy texts," Amelie said. "I work on what I can for my guild. It is slower going than it would be at the University, I think, but there is no reason to let my studies slip now."

"You do realize that any other student of literally every practice including yours would be glad to have an excuse to break from studying," Hieronymus pointed out. Amelie laughed.

"Well, I am not like any other student."

"I can see that."

"Eighty septims, miss."

Amelie paid Olav from her tattered coin purse, and lifted the basket back into her arms.

"Let me—"

"I can handle it, Hieronymus," Amelie insisted.

"Just to the gates."

Amelie sighed, smiling all the same. "Fine, then."

Hieronymus took the basket from her, careful not to let any of the food slip out. "To Cloud Ruler, then."

"Hieronymus!"

"Come now, Amelie, it's not like I have anything better to do with my time right now," Hieronymus said.

Amelie crossed her arms. "You..."

Hieronymus looked at her, holding the basket hostage. "Come on."

"Fine. I suppose I shall be glad of the company."

"You _suppose?"_

They started the trek back to Cloud Ruler Temple, the crisp snow crunching beneath their feet.

"I'm rather used to making the trip either alone or with Farwil," Amelie said. "Your company is far preferable."

Hieronymus laughed. "It's not hard to be preferable to Farwil, though; that's really not saying much."

"What happened to taking comfort where you can?"

Hieronymus shook his head, being sure to keep the basket level. "With you, I can never be sure."

"Perhaps you simply don't know me well enough yet."

"Perhaps."

Amelie surveyed him in the afternoon sunlight, suddenly frowning. "Something is different."

"Hm?"

Amelie studied him intently. "I am almost certain. Something has changed."

"Might it be the fact that I fight for Anvil, and not the Imperial Legion now?"

"That _might_ be it." Unconvinced, Amelie circled around him, trying to figure it out. "Imperial Legion armor does have a rather distinct look to it compared to city watch."

Hieronymus laughed. "I really can't imagine what else you're thinking of."

"Hieronymus, I _live_ in Anvil," she pointed out. "There is just something different about your uniform that sets you apart from the rest of the Anvil watch."

"Like what?"

"If I knew, I would not be thinking so hard about this thing I do not know."

"Maybe it's me, not the armor," Hieronymus suggested.

"You do have a charming smile, but that hardly counts for anything," Amelie said, still dissatisfied.

Hieronymus pulled a face. "And I call you my friend."

"Why is your scabbard gold?" Amelie asked finally, dismissing Hieronymus's comment.

"Hm? Oh." Hieronymus sighed. "It's on loan from the count."

_"There_ it is." Content with that answer, Amelie resumed her normal posture and demeanor. "Might I ask where yours is?"

"I... seem to have misplaced it," Hieronymus lied.

"Any idea as to where you might have lost it?"

"I know precisely where I've lost it," Hieronymus said darkly. "I'll be certain to look for it when we return home."

Amelie smiled. "Good. The silver suits you better; I have always found gold to be a little tasteless."

"Careful, this belongs to the Count," Hieronymus said. "I may have to report that the Heroine of Kvatch thinks his grace's taste is mundane."

"You would not DARE say that to the count!" Amelie laughed, mock horrified.

"I would dare to do a lot of things," Hieronymus said.

"Like get me in trouble!"

"I'm certainly not going to lie about you," he admitted.

"What the count likes and dislikes is his own business," Amelie said huffily. "I have merely said that silver looks better on you."

"I'm flattered that you take the time to care."

Amelie smiled, knocking on the heavy wooden doors keeping Cloud Ruler Temple from the rest of the world. "Of course I care."

Hieronymus beamed at her. "Your basket."

She took it as the doors began to move. "I will see you again tomorrow, then."

"Miss Amelie Rose!"

"...unless, of course, Farwil talks me to death today," Amelie sighed, the smile disappearing off her face.

"He gives you any more trouble, you send him to me," Hieronymus said. "I'll set him straight."

"I fear it will never be that simple with Farwil," Amelie said. "All the same... thank you."

"Just tell him Bremman's set fire to something, he'll come right down."

"I somehow do not doubt that."

They laughed, Amelie smiling warmly at him.

"Whatever happens, I'll look out for you," Hieronymus pledged. She blushed.

"I know you will."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Chapel of Talos**

"JEAN! JEAN CHRISTOPHE!"

Pain, and blood, and fire. There were bright flowers and tangled roots that surrounded her mind as she pleaded with her brother to wake. Voices swirled around her, speaking softly of loss and bravery.

The voices quieted as she cried, wishing that flowers would bloom beneath his body. At least then, he might rest happily.

Someone sat beside her and spoke of burial, by Anna Marie, by the Temple. His voice was shaky and deep, trying to comfort her.

Could he not see her grief?

Someone offered her a hand up. When she reached up to take it, she felt something in her side rip open. Had it been a stray spell? A rogue blow from a daedra's mace or longsword or staff? She fell back, wishing for flowers to come for her as well as the voices returned in full volume.

She felt the ground drop out from beneath her. Who was this? Had she been seized by an enemy? Was she dying? She searched his face, madly trying to match it to a name.

"My dear, it's me."

She blinked.

"Martin."

_Martin?_

She saw worry and fear as he spoke of taking her elsewhere, where she would be helped, and a clanging of metal greeted her on one side as the roots crept up on her and closed her eyes.

A bright white light blinded her and scarred her eyes. She turned to see her own shadow elongate and grow, a threatening silhouette on the blinding background of the Deadlands.

She ran, struggling to see past the light that overtook her. Other figures fell in and out of her field of vision, reduced to mere outlines of their former selves. The outlines became tangled and lost all their color, siwrling and knotting and tightening in every direction as voices screamed for her.

Which thread should she pull to unravel the whole ball of death?

The darkest shadow had a knife. Or was it a sword? Some sort of staff? Rope, perhaps? The sheer vastness of the ways in which a person could be killed towered over her subconscious, each death cycling past her eyes. Each was worse than the last.

She screamed into the silence as the pain returned, filling the void with volume and pain. The metal in her side melted and seared into her skin, creeping up her body and trapping her beneath the molten iron.

* * *

><p>She was in the Chapel of Talos. The flowers and roots had gone, and she was alone.<p>

Or was she?

Someone was sitting cross-legged beside her on the ground, slouching forward to rest his chin on his hand. He wore bloodstained armor, but no helmet within the chapel. His eyes were closed, but surely he wasn't sleeping?

"Hieronymus?"

His eyes snapped open, and he sat up straight. How long had he been here?

"How do you feel?" he asked immediately, scooting forward to sit closer.

"What happened?" she asked, trying to sit up. Hieronymus kept her down with a hand on her shoulder.

"Stay still. You're injured."

"What else is new?" she scoffed.

Hieronymus looked sadly at her. "How do you feel?" he repeated. "You were out for a long time."

"I feel fine."

She tried to sit again. He kept her pinned down.

"Don't undo all the healers have done to keep you alive," he said seriously. "Please. Relax."

"What happened?" she asked, trying to separate fact from fiction. "Did we...?"

Hieronymus nodded. "Emperor Martin took the Sigil Stone out of your bag. It's safe with him in Cloud Ruler Temple."

"How is he?"

Hieronymus shrugged. "He looked pretty shaken up, but I think he's well."

"Then we succeeded."

He nodded hesitantly. Blood and tears came back to her.

"Did Jean...?"

Silence.

"He didn't," Amelie inferred.

Hieronymus shook his head. "He was dead when you came back through the Gate."

Amelie fought him to sit up, tears on her face. "Where is he?"

"Amelie—"

"WHERE IS HE?"

"Calm down—"

_"TELL ME WHERE HE IS!"_

"They've taken him to Cloud Ruler, they're waiting for you to bury him," Hieronymus said, abandoning any hope of keeping her still. Hopefully she had healed enough that no further damage would be done if she moved.

"So..." Amelie fell silent, her eyes staring off into space as she was swept away by the roots pulling down her soul. Someone in the roots with golden eyes and a harsh voice was speaking to her, warning her off, something about...?

"Amelie?"

His voice banished the roots. She blinked, and the chapel was empty again, the barest slivers of sunlight beginning to peek into the windows. Only Hieronymus was left with her.

"Are you...?" He hesitated. "Will you be all right?"

Amelie did not answer.

"Can you take me back to Cloud Ruler?" she asked, taking a deep breath and forcing herself up.

"AMELIE, you can't be—"

_"Do not_ tell me what I can and cannot do," she snapped at him, glaring at him. "Take me to Cloud Ruler. I will not stay here."

Hieronymus scrambled to his feet, gathering up his helmet as Amelie seized her mage's staff and used it to walk.

"Amelie, slow down!" he begged, walking beside her rather than trying to stop her. "Don't hurt yourself, let me get a horse—"

"What makes you think a horse is going to be better?" she asked bitterly. "It's just up the mountain—"

"How are you going to climb a mountain, injured like this?" he asked.

"You will help me. Won't you?" she asked, daring him to abandon her now.

"I, of course, but—"

Amelie kept resolutely on through the snow, forcing him to follow and offer support. They walked in silence, the sun at their backs as they reached the temple.

"Don't strain yourself too much, Amelie," he said, catching her as her mage's staff slipped on a patch of ice. He offered her his arm to lean on, helping her up the path.

"I know..."

The trek was long and quiet, and at the end of it lay a grave.

_"Take a hard look. That'll be you one day, rosy."_


	5. Chapter 5

**The Aftermath**

"What news from Bruma?"

Count Corvus and Countess Millona waited anxiously for Hieronymus's report.

"Your Grace, the gates have been closed at great loss to the troops of Anvil, and of every other city and faction in Cyrodiil," Hieronymus said. "Many did not survive."

"Is Martin safe?" Millona asked.

"He is well."

"What about Jean and Amelie?" Corvus looked unusually concerned. "Are they safe as well?"

"Amelie Rose was gravely injured, but is expected to recover thanks to quick intervention by the healers of Bruma," Hieronymus said. "Jean Christophe Azarath was... was killed in closing the great gate with his sister."

Corvus exhaled deeply, his eyes squeezed shut. "I see."

"We were released from our post outside Bruma two days ago," Hieronymus said. "We came straight home with no further losses to our troops."

"Good, good." Millona looked concerned, yet somehow relieved. "Thank you, you may go."

"Is there anything else that the forces in Bruma require of us?" Corvus put in quickly.

"Nothing. Martin believes that the hard part is over, at least for us. If I understood Amelie correctly, the rest of this war lies between him and Mankar Camoran. It is a fight we cannot aid."

Corvus nodded. "Thank you, Captain Lex."

* * *

><p>The news of Emperor Martin's passing and the subsequent end to the Oblivion crisis had reached Anvil a week ago. Count and Countess Umbranox were keeping the town guards busy with corralling the joyous celebrations. Several of the younger inhabitants of Anvil had taken a particular liking to dancing atop the remains of the Oblivion gates outside the city. While it wasn't illegal, it was certainly a hassle.<p>

It had been a long, busy, but happy week.

Hieronymus was posted outside the Anvil castle, watching passersby with a careful eye. Anvil was a much quieter town than the Imperial City, besides the odd shoplifting or bandit raid there wasn't much to expect. The sun was just beginning to set when the town suddenly exploded into noise and commotion.

"What's going on?"

The riot moved towards the castle, people cheering and shouting. As the crowd of people began to part, it became clear what the chaos was about.

Amelie Rose had returned to Anvil.

"Amelie!"

Hieronymus headed towards her, forcing the crowd apart. "Amelie, what—"

"Please, not now," she said, her voice shaking. "No."

"Wha...?"

Amelie went into the castle, sending the other guards outside to speak alone with the count and countess.

"I was wondering when you would return," Count Corvus said evenly. "If you'd return at all. We're glad you're safe."

"What happened in the City?" Millona asked, sounding more curious than concerned.

"Count Corvus, Countess Millona." Amelie gave each of them a short bow before continuing, ignoring the countess's question. "I presume that... by now you know the fate that befell my brother, Jean Christophe."

"We do, yes," Millona said. "I... we all are so, so sorry."

Amelie nodded, emotionless. "Shortly after we began work for the Blades, my brother and I discussed what we would do if the other died. My promise to Jean was that if he died and I lived, I would return this to you."

Amelie dug through her bag. Buried deep between layers of clothing and books was the Cowl of Nocturnal, hidden away where no wandering eye could have seen it.

Corvus took a deep breath. "I... am not sure what to say."

"To be honest, I do not care what you do with it," Amelie said. "But I know that his Guild was my brother's pride and joy. For some reason, he felt that he belonged there enough to risk numerous incarcerations and innumerable arrests."

"Your brother was certainly a larcenist for the history books," Corvus said, taking the Cowl. "I personally can attest to that."

"I'm not sure how... if Jean had chosen a successor or if there is another way to determine leadership for the Thieves Guild," Amelie said, taking a deep, steadying breath. "I don't know."

"Jean was lucky to have a sister like you that he could trust. Let us thieves worry about that," Corvus said, getting up. "I'll get it settled."

"Corvus—"

"Don't worry, Millona. It won't be me this time," Corvus promised. "I didn't come this far just to go back."

Corvus left, presumably to meet with whatever Thieves Guild contacts he still maintained.

"Countess Millona, I—"

"Amelie, we are truly glad to see you safe," Millona said.

"Please, don't think I brought the Cowl here to take your husband away from you again," Amelie said. "That is not my intention."

Millona looked on warily. "I understand."

"If... I may take my leave," Amelie said. "It's been a tumultuous few months."

"As long as you live, the Azarath's manor is yours to use as you see fit," Millona said. "We are proud to have you here."

Hieronymus caught a glimpse of Amelie as she left the castle. The guards had managed to dispel the crowd that had followed her, returning to their own celebrations. Whatever happened in the coming days, however, remained to be seen. He looked around to see if he would be missed, and ran after her.

"Amelie...?" Hieronymus asked carefully, catching up to walk with her. The sun had set at last, the last remnants of bright colors draining from the sky. She had been walking in silence from Castle Anvil back towards the main part of Anvil.

She stared intently at the ground.

"Is... are you..."

"I'll be all right," Amelie said flatly. "I just... I need to rest."

"I can imagine."

They fell into silence again, trudging along the flagstone.

"Amelie, did you come all this way while injured?" Hieronymus asked, looking suspiciously at her bloodied dress. The shoulders were sliced open, and the deep purple of her gown had been stained a grim red.

"It's nothing."

"It would be nothing if you had a habit of wearing armor like a sensible warrior," Hieronymus said. "But you and your dresses and robes, you worry me."

"I'm fine."

She fell silent again.

They reached the house at last, Amelie searching her bag for her key.

"Amelie, you've hardly said anything to me since you came back," Hieronymus said worriedly. "Have I upset you somehow?"

"It's not you that has me upset," Amelie said, unlocking the door. "Thank you for taking me home."

"Amelie, I—"

She closed the door on him, leaving Hieronymus standing outside in shock. The windows suddenly bathed him light; she had lit the fire. There were no sounds from inside the house. Although, Hieronymus supposed, why would there be?

Suddenly intensely worried, Hieronymus knocked urgently on the door. "Amelie! Amelie, open the door!"

She did not respond. Was she asleep?

"Amelie Rose! Please, I want to speak with you—"

"I have nothing further to say," Amelie's muffled voice replied.

"If you have nothing to say, then at least let me sit with you!" Hieronymus called through the door.

Amelie fell back into silence.

Steeling himself, Hieronymus knocked one last time on the door. "Amelie Rose, if you don't open this door, I—"

The doorknob clicked; the door swung open. Amelie was still sitting in a chair in front of the fire, having used a spell to open the door.

"I would really prefer you not destroy my door. It's the only one I have, you understand."

Hieronymus closed it behind him, sitting down in the chair beside her. "Amelie, are you all right?"

She stared into the fire. "Can you really ask that of me and expect a coherent response?"

"Only because it's you." Hieronymus turned his chair to look more directly at her. He had never seen her slouch before, her breathing sounded forcibly even. She leaned heavily on her hand, still fixated on the fireplace. She looked as though she hadn't slept in days, let alone thoroughly treated whatever wounds she had received from battle. It wasn't like her at all. "I know you well enough to know that you think before you speak."

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"I want to be sure you're all right."

"I am fine, Hieronymus," Amelie said, her tone as flat as before. "I cannot imagine what further business you have with me."

"Amelie, you are a dear friend of mine," Hieronymus said, concerned. "I want to help you in any way I can."

"I don't need help."

"Maybe, no one truly _needs_ help. Do you want help?"

"Do you know, you are the only person who has not asked me about what happened in the Imperial City," Amelie noted.

"Because I don't care what happened at the Imperial City," Hieronymus said. "There are a lot of versions of the story and I don't care which is true, the outcome is still the same. The details be damned, I'm just glad you're safe, but..."

Hieronymus slid off the chair to his knees to get into Amelie's line of sight, blocking her view of the fire.

"Amelie, please. I need to know that you're all right. Let me help you."

Amelie finally met his gaze, tears in her eyes. "I..."

She squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders shaking. "For the first time in my life, I... I do not know what to do."

"Does it matter what happens now?" Hieronymus asked. "Whatever you do, I'm sure it will be good."

"I, I find myself at a loss," Amelie admitted, leaning forward in her chair. Her shoulders sagged uncharacteristically, the sparkle in her eyes due to tears rather than enthusiasm. "All my life I have taken orders and carried them out, I expected to spend the rest of my life in service to..."

She broke off, biting back her tongue.

"...to the Empire."

"What's stopping you?" Hieronymus asked. "Maybe the Blades don't have use for a mage, but surely the University—"

"And who can tell me what to do at the University?" Amelie asked brusquely. "Suddenly _I_ am the one giving orders! I don't know the first thing about running an institution, let alone how to go about continuing my own studies!"

"The Council of Mages has to be there for a reason," Hieronymus reasoned. "They can help you as well."

"And what good is the Council of Mages t' me?" Amelie demanded harshly. _"They answer to me!_ I have the final say in everything! The only one capable of overruling me is Ocato, and he can barely be bothered to _show up_ half the time!"

"I'm sure he can make time now," Hieronymus said patiently.

Amelie buried her head in her hands. "I started out in pursuit of a peaceful life," she said, her voice muffled. "Perhaps I was not destined for it."

"Please don't think like that, Amelie," Hieronymus pleaded. "All our lives will be more peaceful thanks to what you and Martin have done. You can't possibly deny that."

Amelie remained silent, shoulders shaking. "How peaceful can it be? The throne sits empty, there are no heirs. My family died so that Martin might live, and for what, now?"

"Their sacrifices were noble," Hieronymus said. "Without them, the war might have been lost."

Amelie shoved him away from her, violently upsetting her chair and nearly knocking over the table beside it. _"Ye don't understand!"_ she hollered harshly.

"Amelie—"

She took several deep, quick breaths, but they did little to calm her. "You cannot know what it is _like_, to see your baby sister lie dead in the snow!" Amelie shouted, her tears flowing freely. "To see all the potential she had, her talent and strength, lost in an instant to a force far bigger than our entire country!"

"Amelie..."

"And my brother!" Amelie went on, pacing angrily in front of the door to the manor. "The indomitable man who had sworn to always be there, to keep us all safe! The man who raised me and my sister, who made us who we are, _killed_ while I live! And now, the man we all had sworn to protect, _the Emperor,_ the one who could have led us out of the turmoil, _gone before my eyes!_ The Empire has lost, Hieronymus!"

Stunned into silence, Hieronymus got to his feet. Amelie stared defiantly at him, daring him to challenge her grief.

"Amelie, I..." He searched for words, and sighed instead. "You're right. I can't imagine what you've gone through," he said gently. "I wasn't there in the City. I wasn't there in the Gate. But, I am here with you now."

"And what good does _that_ do?" Amelie sniffled.

"We lived."

Hieronymus replaced the chair Amelie had upset, moving slowly towards her. "Amelie, you lived."

"I am well aware."

"They would have wanted you to live your life," Hieronymus said, taking hold of her arms and guiding her gently back towards the chairs. "I don't think they would want you to live the rest of your days in anger and sadness."

Hieronymus sat her back down in her chair, crouching down to stay level with her. Her eyes were oddly bright, her tears reflecting the firelight.

"No one can expect you to be happy, today," Hieronymus said. "But, I do hope that you can find it in yourself to be happy again, someday."

Amelie tried to smile. At best, she looked a little less grief-stricken. Hieronymus counted it as a success.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Will you be all right tonight?" Hieronymus asked. "Or should I stay?"

"I don't want you to get into trouble with the Count."

"There's nothing to watch out for now." Hieronymus straightened up. "I will stay if you want me to."

Amelie got up as well, wiping her eyes. "Let me make some tea."


	6. Chapter 6

**Sheogorath's Congratulations**

Haskill's office was empty. It was raining, as the lack of roof quickly told her.

Amelie sighed, pulling back her hair. Hopefully, this would not take long. She started down the path through Passwall and to the Gates.

She stared at the pair of them. How did she feel today?

"My lady."

"Return to your post," Amelie instructed. "I will be returning to Cyrodiil as soon as possible."

"I will be happy to abuse your kindness while you are here, then." Haskill had appeared in a waft of dark purple smoke. "I am glad to see you alive."

"You did not stay behind to make sure?" Amelie asked, sounding slightly offended. She stared moving towards the dark gate to Dementia.

"I have immense faith in you. Shall we?"

Haskill began to lead her east, heading towards the capital of the Shivering Isles. With a sigh, Amelie followed.

"So. Are you returning for good now?" Haskill asked, a mild note of hopefulness in his voice.

Amelie ignored the question. "How is he?"

"Taxing as always, but no more corporeal," Haskill said. "There is much more work to be done, but I must confess... This is more than I expected."

"You have faith, yet you underestimate me still," Amelie said, a hint of pride in her voice.

"Since you already know that I left, may I ask how the war ended?" Haskill asked cordially. "Judging by your bandages and the lack of potions in your satchel, I presume many of your soldiers will not be returning home for quite some time."

"I am in no worse shape than many of them," Amelie said. "I do not know the death toll."

"Did your Emperor live?"

Her face went blank.

"I apologize."

"It is no one's fault but our own," Amelie said. "If perhaps I had managed things a little quicker in Paradise... or if any of the missions we went on had not taken so long—"

"Ruminating about the past is hardly the most effective way to go about changing it," Haskill interrupted placidly. "If you want to do that, I believe you're out of luck."

Amelie remained silent for the rest of the walk, until Haskill became fed up with walking like a normal mortal.

"Shall we?" He held out his arm to Amelie. She took it, grasping tightly as Haskill brought them quickly and painlessly back to the palace in New Sheoth.

"I do so wish you would either learn that spell or get a horse," Haskill said, brushing out his clothes. "I fear for you wandering the countryside by yourself."

_"Rude._ It's not as though I am _completely_ incapable," Amelie pointed out. "Besides, _he_ has made it rather clear that I am not allowed to die yet."

Haskill glared at her. "And what are we meant to do in your absence?"

"Don't worry." Amelie mounted the steps to the palace, pushing open the doors. "Once he returns, I will be the _least_ of your worries."

Haskill sighed. "You are likely correct."

A blurry specter sat floating on the throne. "About time ye got back! I'm gettin' sick o' this!"

A ghostly Sheogorath glided over the carpet towards them. "Although I must say, I like not havin' t' walk everywhere."

"Do not get too used to it," Amelie said with a little chuckle. "With any luck and gods willing, you will be entirely rid of me soon enough."

"Don't ye mean that _you_ will be rid of _me_, rosy?" Sheogorath asked, crossing his arms. He was mostly transparent, but solid enough for his maniacal expression to be clear. They had a long road ahead. "So. Bribed Mehrunes back to Oblivion, have ye?"

"Hardly." The three of them made their way into the dining hall of Mania. "I doubt that all the gold in the world would have persuaded Mehrunes Dagon away."

"But ye're still alive and very much not dead," Sheogorath pointed out. "Ye can't tell me ye lost. Mehrunes had it out fer ye somethin' fierce, rosy."

"Had it not been for that wonderful staff of yours, I would likely be dead right now," Amelie said. "Although I must wonder why Jyggalag came to my aid rather than you."

Sheogorath's eyes went narrow. "I was busy."

"Perhaps you should get organized."

_"Busy bein' dead!"_

"We shall fix that. Believe me, I have no interest in staying here longer than I must," Amelie said. "All I can report right now is that the hearts of order have absolutely nothing to do with it."

"I TOLD ye that'd be the case."

"However, they do have interesting alchemical properties," Amelie said. "Greenmote as well, but be that as it may."

"What's next, then?" Sheogorath asked, zigzagging absentmindedly over the table.

"I am going to return home, and see what my colleagues have to offer."

"If I am not terribly mistaken, my lady," Haskill piped up, "but your colleagues are no longer your colleagues. They work _for_ you now, not _with_ you."

Amelie frowned. "I try not to think of it that way."

"Why not? Get 'em on the job and hurry it up!" Sheogorath demanded, floating right before her. "The sooner this is over, the better fer all of us!"

"I know that." Amelie got up. "There is an ungodly amount of loose ends that need tying up at home, I don't know what possessed me to come back here."

"Loose ends? Like what?" Sheogorath asked. "Dead, aren't they? What's to tie up?"

Amelie walked out. Haskill looked reproachingly at Sheogorath.

"Have you no room in you blackened speck of a heart for her?" Haskill asked. "I don't know the details, but it very well may be that everyone she knows and loves has perished in this war."

"And?" Sheogorath asked pointedly. "They're mortals. Mortals die. It's what they do. And it's what she'll do."

Sheogorath floated around the room on his back, staring at the bright ceiling. "I'm immortal. I'm more important."

"Perhaps you are, but mortals have an interesting thing they call 'grief,'" Haskill explained flatly. "Imagine how you felt every time the Greymarch happened."

"That wasn't grief, that was—"

"What?"

Sheogorath glared at Haskill. "That was frustration."

"I suppose that may be true. You do lack the basic ability to be sympathetic."

"Ye do know where that comes from, right? _Pathetic."_

Haskill shook his head, also getting up. "I shall see her to the door."

"Tell 'er to get back here soon!" Sheogorath demanded.

"I shall wish her well and hope to see her again within the era," Haskill said stoically.

"Not if I 'ave anythin' t' say about it!"

"Within the decade, then."


	7. Chapter 7

**Mad Sanity**

"He PROPOSED?"

Tar-Meena jumped out of her chair, scaly hands shaking with joy. "He PROPOSED!"

"Yes."

Tar-Meena let out a gleeful cry, running to hug her friend. "Amelie Rose! I can't _believe_ it, you're getting married!"

"I—yes, I—"

"Oh, Amelie, this is wonderful! You MUST let me help you arrange things," Tar-Meena said quickly, releasing Amelie from her grasp and rooting around the table for a roll of paper and a quill. "Getting married, to _him_, at last! Who would have guessed after that mess with the Gray Fox and Ontus and oh Amelie, it's about time you settled down!"

Amelie sank down into a chair. "Tar-Meena, I really was hoping to talk to you about this."

"And talk we shall!" Tar-Meena said, whipping out her inkwell and scratching on the paper. "Have you set a date?"

"Tar-Meena, it has only just happened, it was at the Chancellor's ball," Amelie said. "I have hardly had time to think about it, and I—"

"Amelie, there's so much to be done!"

"Tar-Meena, please listen to me," Amelie pleaded.

"We shall have to find you a venue, and a dressmaker at once," Tar-Meena went on, undaunted. She scribbled madly on the roll of paper, nearly upsetting the table she was writing on with her little bounces of joy. "Amelie, what do you—Amelie?"

She was gone.

* * *

><p>"HE proposed?"<p>

"Yes."

"I believe congratulations are in order, then," Haskill's voice said. The shrine trembled a little as Sheogorath retook control.

"Ye're gettin' MARRIED? T' THAT fool?"

"Who would you rather I marry?" Amelie asked stoically.

"Someone ye love!"

"That was not the question."

"That was DEFINITELY the question!"

"Who ever said I do not love Hieronymus?"

"The fact that ye're lettin' me argue this with ye!"

"You know, this statue looks very little like you," Amelie noted.

_"Don't_ you go an' change the subject!"

"It should not matter to you whether or not I love the man, my getting married should not matter to you at all!" Amelie snapped. "I don't understand what has you so upset, you can hardly wait to be rid of me!"

"Yes, but until then I want ye to m'self!" The statue's jovial pose was horrendously mismatched with Sheogorath's wrathful tone. "How're ye gonna focus on _me_ with a man in yer life?"

"I managed to do it while looking out for an empire," Amelie reasoned. "Believe me, forgetting about you is a blessing that I shall not receive."

"May I ask when the wedding will take place?" Haskill cut in again. "We shall have to have a festival here to commemorate it in your absence."

"That is not necessary. We haven't set a date—"

"Never mind that!" Sheogorath snapped. "This is worse'n the Greymarch!"

"And how, _exactly_, is my getting married worse than the systematic destruction of your entire empire?" Amelie asked dryly.

"Because YOU I can control!"

Amelie sighed. "Really. Why are we having this conversation?"

Sheogorath yelled incoherently.

"Come now, you acting like a child is not going to stop me getting married," Amelie said. "I rather expected more from you."

"My lady, by now you must know to lower your expectations," Haskill put in.

"Quiet, _you!"_ Sheogorath huffed angrily.

_"Rude."_

"What d'ye _see_ in him?" Sheogorath demanded.

Amelie shrugged. "I like him."

"That's it?"

"He keeps me sane!" Amelie said. "He's sweet and kind and loves me dearly, why should I not marry someone like him?"

_"Because ye've got me!"_

"What precisely are you trying to achieve here?" Amelie asked. "Are you trying to stop me?"

"What're YOU trying to accomplish?" Sheogorath retorted. "Ye didn't HAVE t' tell me! But ye did!"

"You did not have to listen."

"Not like I have much else to do. Which we could fix, IF ye put in some work rather than runnin' off with some beachside patrolman!" Sheogorath snapped.

Stung, Amelie turned on her heel and began to leave the shrine. She had not gone more than ten paces when a barrage of flaming cabbages rained from the sky.

_"Ye can't get rid o' me!"_ Sheogorath reminded her.

"And until the day I finally do, you will keep trying to kill me, is that it?" Amelie demanded, turning back to face the shrine. She could almost hear the demonic grin spreading across Sheogorath's face.

"Now that ye mention it, that sounds like fun."

Amelie's eyes narrowed. "Then it shall be your loss."

She turned to leave again.

Sheogorath shouted after her, not about to let her leave. "So what now, is this a game?"

"YOU are the powerful one, you tell me," Amelie barked at him. "Or are you too busy _fish-sticking?"_

"Let me know when ye do set a date, will ye?" Sheogorath asked, his tone changing. "I want to know when t' send yer lucky man some nightshade tea."

"You have to be one of the _least_ sophisticated, most _INSUFFERABLE_—"

"Can I walk ye down the aisle?" he asked, his tone still calm. "Really."

Amelie paused. It was always a gamble, deciding where on the sliding scale of serious to sarcastic Sheogorath was. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because you are not family, you are not a friend, an acquaintance, or anyone else I would be pleased to be caught dead in the vicinity of," Amelie said concisely.

"I'm all the family ye need!" Sheogorath protested.

"You are still in the 'gliding' stage of development, you could not _walk_ me down the aisle even if I wanted you to."

"That—you—get back 'ere, rosy!"

Amelie had left the shrine.


	8. Chapter 8

**Silence**

Amelie made her way back towards the University's island. It was a long, lonely walk in the moonlight by the time she reached the shore. Tar-Meena was anxiously keeping watch outside the gates for a sign of her return.

"Amelie Rose! I'm so, so sorry for upsetting you!" Tar-Meena rushed out, looking worried. "Please don't take off like that."

"I'm sorry, Tar-Meena."

"I won't meddle in your wedding if you don't want—"

"Tar-Meena, may I please speak with you?" Amelie asked abruptly. "In private?"

"Wha... of course, your grace."

Amelie started at the title. "What is this 'your grace' nonsense?"

"High Chancellor Ocato commissioned you a set of Imperial Dragon Armor as the Champion of Cyrodiil the minute the Legion passed on news of your engagement."

Amelie stared at her, taking a deep breath. What business was it of Ocato's to decide what she would wear?! _Rude._ "What does that have to do with—and what exactly am I supposed to do with a clunky set of armor?"

Tar-Meena shrugged. Amelie shook her head.

"Never mind that." Amelie led her to the Archmage's apartment. "Tar-Meena, I would be most grateful for your help with my wedding—"

Tar-Meena squealed with delight. "I'm so excited for you, truly!"

"Please don't make this a bigger affair than it needs to be."

"High Chancellor Ocato will not have it any other way, your grace."

"Stop that, please, Tar-Meena. It's only a wedding," Amelie said. "And since when has Ocato taken any interest in my affairs?"

"But it is YOUR wedding! Cyrodiil needs something like this to recover from the Oblivion Crisis, this is just the thing to get everyone's spirits up," Tar-Meena reasoned, picking up her quill and paper roll.

"The Oblivion Crisis is long since past. Weddings are performed all the time, I see no reason for mine to be such an ordeal."

"You say that as though you don't want to go through with it," Tar-Meena said suspiciously.

"Make no mistake, I do. I would simply rather it not be witnessed by every single soul in the country."

"But Cyrodiil needs—"

"Cyrodiil needs to go about its business, and allow me to go about my own. I am no less of a person just because everyone thinks I am a great heroine."

"But you ARE a heroine." Tar-Meena's suspicious tone did not let up.

"That changes nothing."

"Your grace... Amelie Rose." Tar-Meena sat down across the table from her, searching her companion's tired face.

"What?"

"Did you say yes?"

_"...What?"_

"When he asked. Did you say yes?" Tar-Meena suddenly looked very worried. "Have I got the wrong idea?"

"Wha—no, I—"

"I can't shake the feeling that there's something you're not telling me."

Amelie crossed her arms. "If... if I must tell someone, I would rather it be you and not Hieronymus."

Tar-Meena's eyes went wide. "You HAVE been hiding something from me!"

"Not really," Amelie reasoned. "I, we have never had reason to discuss it—"

"But Amelie, we talk about everything!" Tar-Meena said, hurt. "I've known you since before you were an apprentice, I saw you become Archmage!"

"You are my best friend," Amelie said consolingly. "And that is why I have told no one else, and why I am telling you this in confidence that you will keep it confined to this room on pain of expulsion."

"Expulsion. Really." Tar-Meena sat back in her chair, sizing Amelie up. "What in the world could be so important to you that you'd be willing to expel me?"

Amelie bowed her head. "It is a heavy punishment for something so petty. But... you must understand, Hieronymus cannot know. _No one_ can know, do you understand me?"

"Why, certainly, Amelie. You're beginning to scare me," Tar-Meena said. "What is it?"

"I never did tell you what happened the day that Mehrunes Dagon was banished," Amelie said.

"Yes you did. You used your staff to get Martin to the Temple, where he broke the Amulet into pieces and sacrificed himself to Akatosh," Tar-Meena recapped.

"That... that is the gist of it, yes," Amelie said delicately. "But I left something out."

"But that is what the official records say," Tar-Meena pointed out.

"That is all the official records _need_ to say. What happened... what happened in the Temple was nothing that Ocato or anyone else needed to concern themselves with," Amelie said, thinking dark thoughts about what she would do if Ocato _ever_ got his hands on what she wanted to say.

"I can't imagine what it was like in the Temple when it happened," Tar-Meena said sympathetically. Amelie's head hung lower.

"It was terrible..."

"But I still don't understand," Tar-Meena said. "What did you leave out?"

"I..." Amelie struggled to find the right words. "It... Martin..."

"Tell me from the beginning," Tar-Meena coaxed.

"We arrived in the City to have Martin crowned," Amelie began. "All was well, there were no signs of distress at the time. We spoke a bit with Ocato, who had nearly finished with the coronation when a messenger broke in, telling us that Oblivion gates had started opening inside the walls of the city."

"And that's when everything happened?" Tar-Meena guessed.

"There is... really no other way to put it," Amelie admitted. "The gates and the daedra were everywhere. Mehrunes Dagon was nearly as tall as White Gold Tower, crushing everything in sight. Martin and I split off from the Blades in an effort to get him to the Dragonfires, but with Mehrunes already present, the Dragonfires were useless."

Tar-Meena nodded emphatically, having heard this story told and retold many a time. Amelie herself had never recounted it to anyone. Whatever had been left out had to be important.

"We... Martin came up with a plan," Amelie went on, her voice breaking. "He asked me to get him to the Temple, and I did. My staff froze our surroundings, and we ran. I had no idea what his plan was, honestly, it was blind trust that he would see us through."

"And he did," Tar-Meena said.

"He... he did what he had to," Amelie said lamely. "And... we are alive because of it."

"Amelie, please, it's like pulling scales with you," Tar-Meena said. "What are you trying to tell me?"

Tears sprang into her eyes. "In the Temple. The walls falling in around us, panic and fire everywhere, it was terrifying, and Martin knew that his death waited at the end of the moment. I suppose he did it because he had no other chance—"

"Did what?" Tar-Meena asked gently.

"Before he crushed the Amulet of Kings, before Mehrunes Dagon and Akatosh, Martin and I were alone in the Temple," Amelie explained, her head in her hands. "I was panicking, but he was just so, so calm, and he—"

Amelie choked up, breaking off. Tar-Meena scooched her chair closer to Amelie, consolingly rubbing her back. Amelie collected her broken spirit, taking deep breaths.

"He would have been a grand Emperor," Tar-Meena said soothingly. "He was brave. He did what he had to."

"He kissed me," Amelie finally said bluntly, her breath choppy and uneven.

Tar-Meena was floored. Amelie raised her tearful gaze to meet Tar-Meena's eyes.

"He... he what?" Tar-Meena asked in disbelief.

"He told me he loved me," Amelie said, her voice soft. "And then..."

Amelie dissolved into tears again. The pieces in fell into place, years after such unspeakable terror had gripped the city. Amelie never talked about that day, and no _wonder_ why!

"Amelie..."

How does one get over such emotional trauma, keeping it secret for so long and never revealing the best part of Martin as a man? He was more than an Emperor, he was a human with wants and needs, same as anyone. Something that many people chose to forget.

"Did you love him?" Tar-Meena asked slowly. "Martin?"

Amelie fell silent.

Tar-Meena fell back against her chair with a thump, thinking better of pressing the subject. After all, it was not Martin who had proposed marriage. "But... Amelie, Hieronymus—"

"He _cannot_ know," Amelie said forcefully. "He must _never_ find out!"

"I won't tell a soul, it will come with me to my grave," Tar-Meena promised. "But Amelie—"

Amelie's shoulders shook as she tried to collect herself. "I will happily marry Hieronymus."

"Can you be happy with him?" Tar-Meena asked. "Really happy?"

"He is a good man and a loyal friend," Amelie said, sniffling. "I certainly cannot be sad with him."

"So you said yes?"

Amelie nodded. "I said yes. We are getting married."

Tar-Meena frowned with concern, her friend still in tears. "Look, Amelie. Perhaps it's better if you stay here for a while. Hieronymus can handle himself in Anvil for a few days."

Amelie nodded absently.

"I think it's time you mourned Martin properly," Tar-Meena said, getting up. "We can deal with Hieronymus later, he's still alive and not going anywhere."

"I think that's precisely why we must deal with Hieronymus now," Amelie said, brushing away the last of her tears. "Hieronymus is alive, now. An errant arrow or overpowering spell could be the end of him. Martin is... is dead. I have a lifetime to mourn his passing."

"Amelie Rose, that isn't good for you," Tar-Meena insisted.

"Crying for Martin will not bring him back," Amelie said firmly, her voice still a little shaky. "I am sure he would not want me to live my days in sadness."

Amelie pushed a roll of paper towards Tar-Meena. "Ocato is sorely mistaken if he thinks I am getting married in armor. Can you recommend a dressmaker?"

"We'll find one," Tar-Meena said, taking the roll at last. "First, let's set a date, and a guest list."

Amelie walked into the Temple of the One. The stars were shining faintly through the cloudy night sky. The stone statue of Akatosh towered over her, standing against a threat that was no longer there. She crossed her arms, looking up at the statue.

"Why did you have to leave me, too?" she asked softly. "I have never been alone. I could never be alone."

The statue did not answer.

"Without you here, things are peaceful. All is well. I must not be so selfish." Her traveling boots clicked on the marble floors, recently swept. The open roof, while beautiful, also let in a sizable amount of dust and debris. The temple keepers had to work extra hard to keep it clean.

The Temple was silent.

"I cannot dwell in death." Amelie looked up further, towards the sky. The Snake was making his way across the sky again. "Perhaps one day, we shall have a daughter like my sister, and a son like my brother. Or perhaps he will be like you."

Still troubled, she craned her neck to see the statue's face. It could not answer, nor would it ever.


End file.
